


An Extra Layer

by sassyjumper



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fetish Clothing, Humor, M/M, Shameless Smut, Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyjumper/pseuds/sassyjumper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson wears a sweater vest. House gets hot. Shameless fluff-smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Extra Layer

 

 

 

“House? Are you listening to me?” Chase crossed his arms and gave him a stern look.

“Yeah, yeah,” House answered impatiently, and dishonestly. He knew Chase was droning on about negative results from a spinal tap, but his attention was being drawn down the hall, where Wilson stood hovering over a file with Sandy. He appeared to be wearing a sweater under his lab coat.

_Interesting._

“So it’s probably not GBS,” Chase continued to harp on their case. “His muscle weakness is getting worse, fast. What now?”

_Wonder if it’s a sweater vest. He hasn’t worn one for several winters now._

“Well?”

House sighed. “GBS was a mundane possibility anyway. Why am I even paying you?”

“ _You_ aren’t.”

“Good—didn’t sound like something I’d do. Get Neuro to do a single-fiber EMG, like I wanted in the first place.” At Chase’s look he added, “I know, I know. I don’t care what the nerve conduction tests showed.”

“Another invasive procedure? Don’t you think—”

“No. Just do it,” House said, watching Wilson head for his office. “Gotta go. Fashion consult.”

“Ah, yes,” Chase said as House limped past. “Wilson’s sweater vest.”

House whirled around. “So it is a vest?…Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you noticing Wilson's wardrobe choices?”

Chase smirked and gave a little shrug. “He came in this morning to get coffee, and I just noticed. I notice lots of things.” The smirk morphed into a weird little smile.

House glared. “What does that mean?”

The annoying smile grew wider. “I’ve, uh, noticed some changes in you two. That’s all.”

House just stood there for a moment, willing his face to remain impassive. He wasn’t completely sure what the weasel was implying, but he had a good idea.

He took a step toward Chase. “Uh-huh. Well, Wilson likes to keep his _changes_ close to his sweater vest. So whatever thoughts you have on his attire, I suggest you keep them to yourself.”

Chase held up a hand. “Hey, I’m not gonna start any sweater vest rumors. I’ve got a questionable medical procedure to arrange.”

“Damn right,” House grumbled, tossing in another menacing gaze for good measure. As he continued on his way, though, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for his protégé's observation skills.

Well, make that pride with a side of unease. Wilson really did like his privacy, and they’d agreed to keep the shift in their relationship between them. Of course, they’d reached that agreement silently, by ignoring the issue entirely. So House briefly considered the possibility that he was wrong about Wilson’s feelings…

_Nahh,_ he concluded as he barged into the other man’s office.

Wilson was standing behind his desk and didn’t look up or flinch at the invasion. He was too busy rolling up his shirtsleeves—in a sort of safe-for-work striptease that usually grabbed House’s full attention. But right now his focus was elsewhere.

_Sweater vest._

It was a deep blue with a slight V-neck, revealing a hint of burgundy tie. The shirt underneath had faint crisscross lines that made it look like graph paper. The whole ensemble—completed by dark-gray dress pants—was full-on, unapologetic dork.

House was so turned on.

“Yes?” Wilson finally said, opening his laptop and still not looking up.

Without a word, House rounded the desk and ambled up behind him. “Good morning,” he said in the low voice that drove Wilson mad—even if he wouldn’t admit it.

Wilson stilled. “Um…hi?”

“Not yet,” House replied, setting his cane against the desk. He put his hands on Wilson’s shoulders. _Jesus, cashmere._

Wilson looked at House’s right hand, which was now casually kneading his trapezius. “What are you doing?” he asked, exuding suspicion.

House thought quickly. “Displaying affection?”

Wilson turned around and eyed House in that squinty way he had. “What are you up to?”

House feigned offense. “I just told you. You left before I woke up, and I didn’t get my morning snuggles on.” He adopted his best puppy face, to ensure irresistibility.

Wilson was somehow unmoved. “Seriously. What did you break, maim or destroy?”

Clearly, House realized, a more direct approach was needed. So he grabbed Wilson’s face with both hands and laid one on him. After some token resistance, Wilson predictably caved—effortlessly switching from a muffled objection to parting his lips and deepening the kiss.

When they broke apart, he looked dopier than normal. “Wh-what’s this about?”

House grinned then leaned back in, breathing into Wilson’s ear, “Your sweater vest is making me hot.”

Wilson swallowed. “Well,” he said, voice breaking in his patented prepubescent manner. “It is designed to provide an extra layer of warmth.”

“Funny. So am I.” House pressed his body against Wilson’s in demonstration.

“Whoa.” He put a hand on House’s chest. “I know you’re not huge on workplace decorum, but…”

“You’re the one dressing provocatively at work. Look at the neckline on this thing.” House traced a finger along the cashmere V before moving in to kiss along Wilson’s jaw.

“This is a good color on you,” he said between nibbles. “Brings out your penis.”

Wilson let out a shaky little laugh. “Uh, I don’t think it’s the sweater doing that.”

House smirked before pushing the fussy collar aside and latching onto Wilson’s jugular, which elicited a prompt, “No. _No._ No marks.”

House pulled a face. “I’m not fourteen. I wasn’t planning on leaving marks.”

“I know,” Wilson replied. “You're twelve, and you totally were.”

“ _Totally,_ ” House mocked. He then tried to dive back in, but Wilson was one slippery bastard, and he managed to break free of House’s clutches.

“Sorry.” He held up both hands like he was doing tai chi. “I’m going down to Peds in five, and I can’t have…” He waved vaguely at his crotch, in the classical tai chi gesture known as Hard-On, House surmised.

“They’ll call security,” Wilson added, looking at him earnestly.

“Fine,” House conceded, not caring that he was pouting. “But you and your vest better come over early tonight.” He traded his pout for a leer.

“We’ll do our best,” Wilson assured dismissively—but House caught the light flush in his cheeks.

He allowed a smug smile as he retrieved his cane. “I’m sure you will.”

As he limped toward the door, though, an alarming thought stopped him in his tracks. “Really,” he said, turning around. “Don’t change before you come over.”

Wilson gazed at him indulgently. “Should I be worried about this new fetish?”

House nodded. “Probably.”

 

*******

 

“You have incredibly bad taste. It’s embarrassing,” House murmured as he pulled Wilson’s stuffy dress shirt free from his pants.

“That’s what people keep telling me,” Wilson replied, looking at him pointedly. House got his revenge a moment later when he licked a line along Wilson’s throat and drew a moan from the surly bitch.

House had him against the apartment door, having gone there to greet him as soon as he’d heard the familiar jingle of keys. Wilson’s coat, scarf and ridiculous old-man cap (only House could make those things look cool) were strewn on the floor. The sweater vest, however, was gloriously in place.

House ran his hands up Wilson’s cashmere-clad torso before cupping his face and finding his lips for an almost chaste kiss. Wilson wasn’t too interested in chastity, though, based on the hands grabbing House’s ass and drawing him in.

House pulled his head back. “Well,” he said, trying to control his voice as Wilson shamelessly ground their pelvises together. “You’ve certainly changed your tune.”

Wilson shrugged a shoulder. “We’re not at work.”

House couldn’t help sweeping his hands along the cashmere again. “Ah. Dorky oncologist by day.” He reached for Wilson’s belt. “Dorky slut by night.”

That earned him a sheepish smile; House looked down at his own hands so he wouldn’t smile back.

“Why don’t we move somewhere with simpler logistics?” Wilson suggested, his breath already quickening just from House’s hands on his belt.

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

Wilson exhaled a soft laugh. “C’mon. Bedroom.”

He pushed past House and forged ahead. “Hey,” House called after him. “Slow down.”

He had no complaints about the go-getter attitude, but he didn’t want the sweater removed just yet. In fact, as he limp-hopped down the hall, he vaguely wondered if there was a way for Wilson to keep the thing on the whole time without looking too ridiculous to fuck.

When House got to the bedroom, Wilson had already kicked off his shoes and put the bottle of lube on the bed. He leaned against the doorjamb and smirked. “Someone is raring to go.”

“Someone else _was_ raring to go,” Wilson replied as he shed his pants.

“Oh, I still am,” House assured, stalking toward his prey.

He felt slightly foolish for being so hot for someone in a sweater vest, boxers and thick black socks. But that thought vanished when he was pulled into a rather frenzied kiss and fingertips slid under his t-shirt and up his spine.

Wilson broke the kiss just long enough to divest House of his shirt. When he moved back in, House's breath hitched at the surprisingly erotic sensation of naked torso meeting cashmere. Who the hell knew goat hair could do that?

_Goats must be turned on 24/7._

House shoved one hand down the back of Wilson’s boxers while running the other up and down his back. He was trying to decide which felt better—the cashmere or the soft skin on that round ass—when he noticed Wilson had stilled and was now giving him a perplexed look.

“Are you…Are you _caressing_ me?”

“No,” House insisted, probably too quickly. “That would be unbelievably gay.”

Wilson stared. “Yes. Anal intercourse is as gay as you’re willing to go.”

House wrinkled his nose. “OK, never utter the phrase ‘anal intercourse’ again. It has an ironic effect on my erection.”

Wilson grinned. “I can rectify that,” he said lowly, running his knuckles over the bulge in House’s jeans.

House mentally agreed as he felt himself harden instantly. He also decided it was time for the sweater vest to go; it was distracting him from the more intriguing exploration sites underneath.

So he yanked it over Wilson’s head, tossed it on the bed, and unceremoniously shoved its owner on top of it. Wilson looked affronted, but he quashed whatever protest he was going to make when House started tugging at his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Why do all your shirts have eighty-two buttons?” House bitched, partly to draw attention from his visibly trembling fingers.

“There’s surprisingly little Velcro in men’s dress wear.”

“God, that would be awesome if you had a Velcro suit I could just pull apart.” House finally got the shirt open. “Imagine the work it would save me.”

Wilson responded by pulling House down for more of those greedy, sloppy little kisses. _Yeah,_ House thought as he moved against Wilson's hot skin. _Better than cashmere._

He eventually found himself on his back and fully on the bed, with Wilson working his jeans off for him. House closed his eyes and sighed, in something akin to contentment. _Nothing like being waited on._

He let himself bask in the familiar but still-new feeling of Wilson nipping a path down his body, bypassing House's most interesting areas in favor of laying feathery kisses on his inner thighs. He felt his toes curl, and it took all his will not to order Wilson to get on with the main show.

It wasn’t really necessary anyway. Wilson knew what he was doing—a fact that was demonstrated a moment later when he took House in hand and slowly licked a line up the underneath side of his cock.

House took a shuddering breath, partly in relief, partly in anticipation of the next move. But instead of the expected warm mouth, he felt a light, silky, fucking fantastic _something_ sweep up the same trail Wilson’s tongue had just taken.

House gasped as his hips jerked involuntarily and his eyes flew open. “What the f—”

And there was Wilson, wearing an evil smile and holding his cashmere vest of sex. “You seemed to really like my sweater, so…”

House just stared as the sweater was wrapped around his cock and Wilson began to jerk him, and—“Ohfuckingchrist _god!_ ”

House slapped a palm down and arched off the mattress. He was dimly aware of a voice that sounded like his own, babbling further blasphemous commentary. But he was almost fully consumed by the sparks of pleasure firing off with each stroke of Wilson’s hand. And when he felt that hot wet mouth on his balls, House was fairly sure he was dying.

And he was fine with that. Great with that, in fact. He even began to laugh, somewhat maniacally, as he thought about how they’d record his cause of death. _Cashmere hand job._

“There’s no…ICD code for that,” he wheezed—apparently out loud, because Wilson’s mouth pulled away from him, and he heard a raspy voice say, “What?”

“ _Hu-fegen,_ ” was House’s response.

He heard a quick, breathless laugh. “I think you’re suffering from brain hypoxia,” Wilson said, tossing the sweater onto House’s face.

House was going to complain about the loss, but then Wilson’s hands were on him, coating him with lube. And on his overly sensitized cock, even that familiar action felt like almost too much. He knew he was groaning without reservation, which was not his usual style in bed. Unlike Wilson, who became a red-faced, possibly asthmatic mess during sex, House preferred to keep his dignity.

But right now, he didn’t give a shit. He couldn’t even be bothered to remove the sweater from his face. Not that he really wanted to; it smelled like Wilson and a little like him, and if he were a sappier sort he’d say he enjoyed that.

Plus, there was the unspeakable hotness of being unable to see as that hand continued to glide over him and he listened to Wilson’s little grunts, picturing what he was doing. Almost too soon, House felt himself being slowly sheathed in a silky tight heat and… _Oh, hell yeah._ So much better than cashmere.

“God…Wilson.” House was finally able to form words, though they sounded thin and shaky. He heard Wilson’s soft moans in time with his own, and that made the situation a bit more desperate. House fisted the sheets as his hips started bucking and he felt his heart thumping against his chest wall.

Then suddenly the sweater was gone, and House blinked a couple times before Wilson’s flushed face, bright with a sheen of sweat, came into focus above him. He took hold of House’s hands and interlaced their fingers before leaning down for a kiss.

House would never admit it, but that weight of Wilson’s hands on his, and the surprisingly tender kiss that he only dared because he thought House was too blissed out to remember…That was actually more intense than what was happening below his navel.

It also grounded him enough to fall into a rhythm with Wilson. He knew this wasn’t going to last much longer, thanks to the cashmere foreplay, but there could still be this short time where they dropped their usual barriers and just moved together.

Wilson began to quicken his pace, breaking the kiss and burying his head in the side of House’s neck. The sound of his panting and the moist heat of his breath were almost enough to send House over the brink.

Almost. What actually did it was Wilson’s voice, barely above a whisper, saying “House” into his ear. A long groan tore from somewhere deep in his chest, and he squeezed Wilson’s hands a little tighter as he came.

House felt so utterly emptied by the act, all he could do at first was lie there, eyes closed, trying to take gulping breaths against the weight of the body on his chest.

“House,” Wilson said again, with an edge to his voice this time.

_Oh yeah._

He let his hand be guided to Wilson’s cock, and used the strength he had left to move his other hand to the back of Wilson’s head, threading his fingers through the thick curls there. It took only a few strokes of their clasped hands before he felt Wilson’s release, and the sound of his unrestrained moan made House smile genuinely.

They lay still for some time afterward. Again, House would never say it out loud, but he liked this part—when he could just listen to Wilson’s breathing and let his own racing heart gradually slow. Even the pain from his leg was like tolerable background noise for a while.

Eventually, though, House felt the bed shift. Following what had become their routine, Wilson handed him his Vicodin then shuffled off to get a warm washcloth. When he returned, he curled up close to House, but not quite touching him, and closed his eyes.

House studied his bedmate as he used the cloth to clean himself up. Wilson usually dropped off quickly after sex, but House wasn’t ready to let him just yet. Since pillow talk wasn’t their thing, he opted for pillow snark.

“Sooo…You know how to get pre-cum out of cashmere?”

Wilson scratched at his nose then murmured a sleepy, “Of course.”

House smirked. _Of course._

It took another moment for the full implications of that statement to register. “Wait,” he said. “You have experience in that particular form of laundering?”

Wilson kept his eyes closed and yawned. “How do you think I knew it would feel so good?”

House just stared as Wilson kept up his innocent Sleeping Bitch routine. “So is that why you haven’t worn a sweater vest in so long?” he demanded. “You wore out every one you owned?”

Wilson sighed and blinked his eyes open. “Well…Cashmere only holds up to so many washings.” He gave House a sheepish look. “And anyway, it got difficult to wear one without thinking of…y’know.”

House continued to stare and Wilson started to look concerned. “This one’s new,” he assured, waving a hand in the general direction of where he’d thrown the vest.

“Fantastic,” House said. “You do realize that now any time you wear a sweater vest, _I’m_ gonna be thinking about…”

He trailed off and watched as a grin slowly spread across Wilson’s face. Epiphanies were always slower to come post-orgasm. That, at least, was House’s excuse.

Wilson trailed his fingers across the sensitive skin of House’s forearm. “We’ll both be thinking about it,” he corrected. “It’ll be more fun that way.”

House couldn’t quite fight off a little smile. “You’re one kinky freak.” Wilson blushed, clearly taking that as a compliment.

But House had another question. “How did you know wearing that thing would make me horny?”

Wilson gave a slight shrug. “I always thought you looked at me…differently when I wore one.” He chuckled softly. “A couple times I wondered if you somehow knew what I, uh, used them for.”

House furrowed his brow. “Maybe I did. I mean, my brilliance knows no bounds.”

“Mm-hmm. Much like your modesty.”

“Yep.” House stretched his arms and casually slipped one around Wilson, tugging him closer till the disheveled head was resting on his chest. Surprisingly, Wilson let the action go without remark.

_Interesting…He must want me to be willing to do that again._

House cleared his throat. “So. Is this the only new sweater vest you bought?”

“Unh-uh,” Wilson mumbled into his skin. “There was a sale. Got one in every color.”

House grinned and began to leisurely run his fingertips along Wilson’s arm. This was going to be a long, hot winter.

 

 


End file.
